


calm my restless soul

by reindeerjumper



Series: in for a penny, in for a pound [1]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: A peek into the future, Conversations, Established Relationship, F/M, Light Angst, Post-War, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 15:22:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11671809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: What would Phryne & Jack's life look like 20 years into the future?





	calm my restless soul

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little headcanon I've been toying with. I also love the idea of these two down the road...growing with each other and sharing experiences.

If you had asked Jack Robinson in 1929 where he saw himself in twenty years, his answer would have been very far from reality. After his divorce from Rosie, he had reserved himself to the thought that he’d spend the rest of his life in quiet solitude with work to break up the monotony of eating and sleeping. He'd still be residing in his little cottage on the south side of town, just a ten minute walk from the station. On Sundays, he'd still carve a few hours out of his day to prune his roses and cultivate his zinnias with just a small break to sip on an iced tea, the brim of his hat pushed off of his forehead and the top of his shirt unbuttoned. 

Real life has a funny way of surprising you, though, and Jack had never bet on a raven-haired, porcelain-skinned tornado to rip through his life and leave him breathless. All of the quiet solitude he had mentally prepared for was dismantled the second he met Phryne Fisher.

Instead of a lonely life that consisted of rotating between home and work, Jack settled into life with Phryne. The first ten years of their relationship were rip roaring, adventure seeking years--they solved crimes and murders shoulder-to-shoulder, equal partners in each case. Once all was said and done, they’d race back to Wardlow Place and tumble into Phryne’s silk sheets, a set of tangled limbs and whispered promises against uncharted skin. It was amazing to Jack how easily they slotted into each other’s lives--she shook his up, while he sedated hers just enough to convince her to spend a Saturday night in.

Of course, not everything stays so beautifully perfect. Jack wished it could stay like that forever, waking up next to Phryne with her lips pressed against his neck and her legs protectively curling around his own, and falling asleep to their syncopated breath after raucous lovemaking.

Hitler, however, had different plans, and the next ten years of their relationship were far less idyllic. They were rip roaring and definitely adventurous, but they were also frightening and nightmarish and forced Phryne and Jack farther from each other than they ever wanted to be.

From 1940 to 1945, Phryne found herself back in Europe. Jack knew her heart was too big, too empathetic, and he knew that loving her would eventually mean some kind of loss. He hadn’t banked on spending five years of his life with Phryne not knowing if she was safe, obsessively checking the post everyday for some kind of letter from her. His own role in the war put him on intelligence work, forcing him to stay awake long into the night and occasionally thrusting him into incredibly unsafe situations. It wasn’t like his first war--knee deep in mud, shrapnel digging itself into his skin--but the atrocities being committed were so much worse, and he knew the nightmares were the least of his burden.

It wasn’t until September 15th, 1945 that Jack’s life finally shifted back into focus. Since Phryne’s departure, he hadn’t spent much time at Wardlow. He opted for his own small cottage, where the ghost of her was far less evident. He had been sitting in his office, a lukewarm cup of tea on his desk and a stack of papers in disarray in front of him. She must have used her lockpick to get in, because when he looked up from his papers to dig his thumbs into the corners of his eyes, Phryne Fisher was leaned against the door jamb of his office, a megawatt smile on her face and a hand on her hip.

“Hello, Jack,” she had murmured, the sparkle in her eyes making something in Jack’s chest hurt.

He didn’t remember responding, just shoving back from the desk and crossing the room in three steps to pull her into him. There was no kiss, just the embrace of two people who thought they’d never get the chance to do so ever again. Jack had allowed the tears to fall from his eyes as the smell of her talc and jasmine perfume filled his nose, and he could feel Phryne’s sobs racking through her body as she grasped at the cotton of his shirt. They stood there for what felt like hours, neither of them allowing the chance to break apart from each other.

Once Jack had gotten himself under control, he had pulled back to look into his lover’s eyes. She had a few more lines around her eyes and mouth, and her perfect bob had an ever-so-slight streak of silver running through it. Her eyes, though, were the same eyes he had waved goodbye to on the docks five years prior. Jack had cupped her face in his hands, brushing his thumb along her sharp cheekbone as he drank in the sight of her.

“You’re going gray,” she had whispered, bringing her own hand up to rake her nails through the tufts of hair that were at his temples.

Jack had laughed, loud and hearty, before kissing her on the forehead, then the nose, and finally the mouth.

It wasn’t long before the two of them decided that living apart was painful. They had spent too much time doing that. “It’s time for a fresh start,” Phryne had said. Jack had agreed. The war had left everyone with a much different perspective, and Jack knew that after being away from her for so long, he didn’t want to spend another second without her.

Jack sold his cottage in Melbourne, and Phryne put Wardlow Place up for sale. After spending time in Europe helping the forces, Phryne had come back to Australia with a bit of a different outlook on her everyday living. She still commanded the attention of any room that she walked into, but she also seemed to savor her solitude and quiet. She and Jack deliberated for some time before agreeing that the best place for them to settle down was somewhere outside of Melbourne, away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Somewhere they could enjoy each other’s company and not worry about society and parties and frivolities that just didn’t seem appealing anymore.

In less than a year, they had purchased a small cottage down in Frankston, just across the street from the wide expanse of the ocean. It was much smaller than Wardlow had been, and a bit bigger than Jack’s own cottage. The cottage itself was white, with overfull window boxes hanging underneath each window. A black tin roof sat on top of the house, and their front door was a sunshine yellow that you could see from the street. Their little plot of land was covered in flowers, giving Jack ample space and time on Sundays to prune his roses and tend to his zinnias. Big, full hydrangea bushes sat in the front garden, and a tall, scrubby looking tree sat next to their picket fence. Jack hung a tire swing from its branches, a treat for the Collins’ boys to play with when Dot would bring them with her to work.

The inside was modest--far more modest than Wardlow Place had ever been--but wonderfully cozy. It was the perfect marriage of Jack and Phryne. The thick, well-worn rugs from Phryne’s home were scattered on the hardwood floors in their new home, and Jack’s leather armchair from his office now sat nestled in the corner of their living room. In their bedroom sat Phryne’s ornate vanity, all of her perfumes and creams still neatly organized on a tray on its surface, while Jack’s beloved quilt lay across their bed. The bathroom was black and white tile with a large, claw-foot tub at its end. The window above it looked out to the ocean, and on more than one occasion, Phryne and Jack lay in the warm water and watched the sunset, wrapped in each other’s arms as a Glenn Miller record played from across the hall. 

The baby grand piano that had taken up the majority of Phryne’s sitting room at Wardlow Place didn’t make the cut, but Phryne had replaced it with a sweet, gently used upright that sat in the sitting room. On top of it were framed photos--pictures of Phryne and Jack from the first stint of their relationship, an occasional photo of her and Mac, a big group photo from Hugh and Dot’s wedding, and Phryne’s infamous mug shots from one of their first encounters--and usually a vase full of flowers from Jack’s garden. On warm nights, Phryne would open the windows that sat in front of the piano and sit next to Jack on the bench while he mindlessly ran his fingers up and down the keys. 

Since coming home from the war, Phryne had started rising much earlier than she did before. Oftentimes, Jack would feel her lips ghosting over his before he even had a chance to roll over and pull her into his chest. No longer having the superior service of Mr. Butler under her tutelage, Phryne would make rye toast with butter and put on a pot of tea while Jack shaved. They made a point to eat breakfast on the small balcony off of their bedroom whenever they could, Phryne wrapped up in one of her silk robes and Jack in just his shirtsleeves and slacks, the buttons of his collar undone and his cuffs hanging loose around his wrists. 

Even though Frankston was an hour drive to the station as opposed to his usual ten minute walk, Jack found that he liked his new commute. It gave him time to clear his head before getting into the station, allowing Phryne’s goodbye kiss to linger on his lips just a little bit longer. Sometimes she would drive into Melbourne a few hours after him, her beloved Suiza still purring like a kitten. They’d lunch at one of the restaurants in town, or Dot would meet them and Hugh at the station with a basket full of lunch on her arm and a gaggle of brown-haired, innocent-eyed children following behind her like ducklings. 

Jack’s favorite part of the day, though, was coming home to Phryne. If it were a regular day, one without murder or crime, he would make the slow drive back to Frankston, the window of his Holden rolled down so that the salty breeze could billow in, dismantling his hair from its rigid pomade as his hat sat on the passenger seat. He’d pull into the driveway, a smattering of cobblestones covered in moss that snaked its way into their property. Disengaging the engine, he’d always look up to find Phryne standing in the entryway to the mudroom that was on the side of the house, a smile on her face and her arms crossed across her torso.

Sometimes Phryne would still be in her outfit from the day--sharp-pressed trousers, soft button-down shirts, full skirts, sharp suits--or she would have already changed into something more comfortable. The days she dressed for comfort were always Jack’s favorites. He loved her flamboyant, showy outfits, but seeing her in a pair of rumpled trousers and wrapped up in one of her old jumpers always tugged a little more on his heartstrings. 

They’d eat a meal left by Dot during the day, heated up after staying in the refrigerator. They’d talk about their days, if they hadn’t spent their time together, and usually Jack would lean over and steal a kiss from Phryne, just because he could. Once the meal was finished and the plates washed and dried, Phryne would grab the old afghan off of the back of the couch while Jack pulled on his cable knit cardigan. She’d grab two tumblers while he’d carry the whiskey decanter, and they’d make their way across the street, side-by-side, towards the ocean.

Somewhere between the road and the sea, Phryne and Jack would sit on the sand. She’d kick off her shoes haphazardly, digging her toes into the cold sand, while fastidious Jack would untie each of his oxfords before pulling them off, then peel off his socks and roll them neatly before stuffing them into his shoes. The two would settle in next to each other as the sun set against the horizon, setting the sky aflame with pinks and purples, coloring the ocean an ominous, inky blue. 

Jack would pour them both a tumbler of whiskey while Phryne wrapped herself up in the afghan. Once both tumblers were poured, Phryne would curl both of her hands around the cut glass while Jack let his dangle from his fingertips. His legs always splayed open, his forearm resting on his knee while his other arm wrapped around Phryne’s shoulders. Usually, Phryne would tilt her head towards Jack, letting their temples touch, or her head comfortably loll onto his shoulder.

Sometimes they would sit in silence. Other times they would talk about things. It was one of the nights that Phryne was feeling chatty that Jack found himself looking into her shimmering green eyes. They reminded him of the ocean, just a few steps away from where they sat. They held a frightening depth to them, despite their beauty, and there were secrets beneath their surface that he hadn’t yet unearthed.

There was a lull in the conversation when Jack said, “We’ve come a long way, love.” He tightened his grip on her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her temple as he thought about all of the obstacles they had overcome to have just a moment of silence like this.

Jack felt Phryne hum in agreement. “That we have,” she murmured. Pulling the afghan a little closer around herself, she continued. “You know, before I left for the war, I thought I had everything. A beautiful home, a wardrobe full of the finest clothes, more hats than I knew what to do with...but then I went back to Europe and saw things that no one should have to witness.” She paused, swallowing thickly. “I don’t have to tell you. You lived it. It isn’t easy, watching atrocities like that happen before your very eyes. You feel helpless and any frivolous thing you’ve ever wanted seems so absolutely ridiculous that you hate yourself a bit for ever wanting it.”

She was quiet for a second, her head still tucked underneath Jack’s chin. He knew what she meant. How could you ever want for any earthly possession after seeing the life ripped from the bodies of those you loved? The silence that now settled around them was pensive, both of them entrenched in their own memories and thoughts. 

Phryne suddenly said, “I’m glad we have the life we’re living. I don’t need the fancy clothes or the expensive perfume if it means I have you. We still see Mr. Butler when he comes round for dinner, and the Collins are practically our family. They call me, ‘Aunt Phryne’, for goodness sake. And I’d be remiss to forget our wonderful Jane...truly, Jack, this life may not be what I wanted in the beginning, but it turns out to be exactly what I needed.”

Jack didn’t respond. The only sound was the crash of the waves on the shoreline and the wind whipping down the empty beach. As he reflected on Phryne’s words, a smile crept onto his face. He could feel Phryne shift as she looked at his face. She leaned over and pressed a kiss into the dimple of his cheek, which made him smile wider. He looked back into those green eyes, feeling like he’d found treasure.

“I couldn’t agree more, my love,” he said. “As long as I have you, I need nothing else.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was heavily inspired by visuals, so I made a mood board to go along with it. You can [find it on my tumblr](http://hisreindeerjumper.tumblr.com/post/163661789235/calm-my-restless-soul-summary-what-would-jack)!


End file.
